Hermes shakes her head, sending her curls bouncing. “You’ve only seen her in her public persona when her mom drags her to events, Dionysus. She’s not too bad when she’s not locked down, especially when she’s hanging out with her sisters.”
Dionysus opens one eye. “Darling, spying is highly frowned upon.”
“Who said I’m spying?”
He opens the other eye. “Oh, so you’ve been spending time with the Dimitriou sisters, have you? The four women who hate the Thirteen with a passion that’s truly outstanding considering who their mother is.”
“Maybe.” She can’t even keep a straight face. “Okay, no, but I was curious because their mother is so determined to match them up with as many powerful people as she can get her hands on. It pays to know these things.”
I watch this play out with fascination. Hermes, being one of the Thirteen, should be someone I dislike on principle, but her role edges her into the shadows in a number of ways. Private messenger, the holder of secrets I can only begin to guess at, a thief when it suits her. She’s nearly as much a patron of the darkness as I am. It should make her even less trustworthy than the rest of them, but she’s so damned transparent that sometimes it makes my head ache.
Then the rest of their words penetrate. “So it’s true. She’s set to marry Zeus.”
“They announced it last night. It would have been sad if I had any room in my heart for pity. She was trying so hard to keep her smile in place, but the poor thing was terrified.” Dionysus closes his eyes again and leans back against the counter. “Hopefully she lasts longer than the last Hera. It’s enough to wonder what game Demeter is playing. I thought she cared more about her daughters’ safety than that.”
I’m aware of Hermes watching me closely, but I refuse to show my interest. I have too many years of locking everything away until there’s a thick wall between me and the rest of the world. Tolerating these people in my house does not translate to bringing them into my confidence. No one earns that. Not when I’ve seen how spectacularly it can backfire and get people killed in the process.
Hermes inches to the edge of the island and kicks her legs out, a study in casualness. “You’re right, Dionysus. She didn’t agree to it. A little birdie told me that she had no idea it was happening until they dragged her to the front of the room and put her in a position where she had to agree or piss Zeus off with the entire Thirteen present—well, the Thirteen minus Hades and Hera. We all know how well that goes over.”
“You work for Zeus,” I say mildly, forcing down the instinctive anger that rises every time that fucker’s name comes up.
“Nope. I work for the Thirteen. Zeus just happens to take advantage of my services more often than the others—including you.” She leans forward and gives me an awkward wink. “You should consider utilizing my skills to their fullest extent. I’m rather outstanding at my role, if I do say so myself.”
She might as well dangle the bait right in front of my face and give it a good shake. I raise my brows. “I’d be a fool to trust you.”
“He’s right.” Dionysus burps and looks even greener, if that is possible. “You’re tricksy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the very paragon of innocence.”
Hermes plays a deeper game than anyone else. She has to in order to maintain her balance of a vaguely neutral party in the midst of all the politicking and manipulation and schemes of the other Thirteen. Trusting her is like putting my hand in a tiger’s mouth and hoping it’s not in the mood for a snack.
Still…
Curiosity sinks its fangs into me and refuses to let go. “Most people in Olympus would happily give their right hand to become one of the Thirteen, marriage to Zeus or no.” The tabloids paint a picture of Persephone as a woman with more money than sense—the exact kind of person who’d jump at being married to a rich and powerful man like Zeus. That Persephone is nothing like the strong yet terrified person who fled across the bridge last night. Which one is real? Only time will tell.
Hermes’s smile widens as if I’ve just given her a gift. “One would think, wouldn’t they?”
“Put him out of his misery and share the gossip.” Dionysus groans. “You’re making my headache worse.”
Hermes pulls her legs up, and I have to bite back the urge to tell her to get her goddamn feet off my counter. She cups her mug in both hands and holds it in front of her mouth. “Demeter’s daughters aren’t interested in power.”
“Right.” I snort. “Everyone’s interested in power. If not power, then money.” I can’t count how many times the Dimitriou daughters have been photographed shopping for things they certainly don’t need. At least once a week.
“That’s what I thought, too. Which is why I feel I can be forgiven for snooping.” She shoots a look at Dionysus, but he’s too lost in his hangover misery to notice. “Not a single one of them cares about their mother’s ambitions. The youngest has even let Calliope’s favorite son tempt her into a relationship.”
That gets my interest. “Apollo’s little brother?”
“The very one.” She laughs. “The ultimate fuckboy.”
I let that pass, because it doesn’t really matter what I think of Orpheus Makos. His family might not be a legacy one in Olympus, but they’ve had plenty of power and fortune through the generations, even before Orpheus’s older brother became Apollo. From the rumors I’ve heard of the guy, he’s a musician on a permanent quest to find himself. I’ve heard his music, and it’s good, but it doesn’t quite excuse the excess he indulges in to pursue his various muses. “You have a point.”
“Do I?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’m just saying that you might want to sit the woman down and ask what she wants.” She shrugs and hops off the counter, only weaving a little on her feet. “Or you could just play to expectation and lock her up in a dungeon. I’m sure Zeus would love that.”
“Hermes, you know very well that I don’t have a dungeon.”
“Not a dank and dark one.” More eyebrow waggling. “We’ve all seen the playroom, though.”
I refuse to acknowledge that. The parties I host from time to time are as much part of my role as Hades as anything else. A carefully crafted persona that is designed to inspire the darker emotions and, as a result, ensure the few people who know about my existence in the upper city don’t fuck with me. If I happen to enjoy this particular part of said persona, who can blame me? Persephone would take one look at that room and run screaming for her life. “Time for you to go home.” I nod to the hall. “I can have Charon take you.”